I am a creative, homely and domesticated mother of two very active boys, the loving, loyal and by rare request slutty wife to my considerably older husband, a devoted daughter to my mother, uncivilized to the rest of my family and misunderstood by everyone else. Like I give a flying rats ass.

Wednesday, September 01, 2004

not all is lost...

My day wasn't a complete bitchfest. Have confidence in me dear blogger, I may not have a "therapist" but I have extended my support group. For some strange reason, maybe it isn't so strange, I instantly feel better about everything when I sit in front of my computer and read about your lives. I forget about my aggression, anger and whatever happened in my life that day. There are only 4 people in my life that can do this for me but it isn't as instant as my nights blogging: my mom, my husband and my 2 children. Ok, somehow that looks pathetic, oh well. Alas, since my regular visited blogs haven't posted something new for me to read, I went on a quest to extend my reaches. I've found two of the grooviest blogs that I've seen.

The first that I found is Cheaper Than Therapy. Let's face it, just the name of it is what we all seek, SOMETHING cheaper than therapy and more effective too. So I'll give you a taste of what made me decide to keep current with this blog:

"Tuesday, August 24, 2004
This date will go down in history as The Day of the Jackhole.

I went to the credit union to get a replacement debit card, since I've misplaced mine and I'll need one for vacation spending. As I stood in line, I could tell that I wasn't going to get the Nice Teller. I ended up in front of the Attitude Problem Teller and explained my situation.

APT: Why do you need a new card?

Me: I've misplaced mine somewhere in the house.

APT: Have you reported it stolen?

Me: It wasn't stolen. It's in my house somewhere.

APT: If it wasn't stolen, then where is it?

Me: ...

About ten minutes later, she decided that I wasn't going to leave her station, so she picked up the phone and, in less than sixty seconds, placed a new card on order for me. Then, without saying another word to me, hollered, "NEXT!""

The reason that I like this so much is because it is the exact same principle response that I would have given the teller, only mine is the X rated version. Perhaps by following this chick's blog, I'll learn how to get my point across without getting pissed off at the world in the process. I bet her secret isn't counting backwards from 20 and taking a deep breath in between numbers. Perhaps I'll ask her some day.

The Second Blog that I found was
My Expatriate Odyssey. This man strikes my fancy because I have a step brother that lives in Frankfurt that I've never seen, touched, spoke and only once wrote to. My step brother has lived in Germany since he was born. I've always wondered, from time to time, how different his life is. This blog is just enough of a window to see how things work in Germany. Conceivably, my imagination may become closer to fiction. Here's an excerpt:

Svetlana Khorkina, the anorexic looking Russian gymnast is P.O’ed. Like who didn’t see it on her face after watching an American teenybopper, Carly Patterson strip her of Olympic glory.

As I sat watching the climax of the Olympic Gymnastics with my wife I said “look at the Russian chick’s face…she’s pissed.”

The Europsort guys didn’t think so. They called it “disappointment” and were bragging about what a good sport Khorkina was. Apparently they didn’t see what I saw. During the little hugsy-kissey thing women do after competition, Khorkina whispered something in little Carly Patterson’s ear, and judging from the shocked/angered expression on Carly’s face, I don’t think the Russian said “way to go girl”.

Anyway, Khorkina is letting it all hang out now. She feels she was robbed of her rightful title by America loving judges. “I think it's because I'm from Russia, not from America!" she said.

Khorkina—for those of you who don’t know—posed in the Russian edition of Playboy (Russian men like their women looking hungry).

I’m waiting. I’m being patient. Maybe four years from now in Bejing things will get interesting. I can see it now. The Americans are about to strip the Chinese of a disserved gold medal and some little under fed Chinese pixie comes over and delivers a kung fu punch to one of the American gymnasts then says something in Chinese that means basically the same as “Bitch”! At that point, female gymnastics will have picked up a large population of male viewers. Hey…it would be good for the sport!

Speaking of pixies… for all the talk about doping scandals, somebody please explain to me the pre-teen anatomy of an 18 year old gymnast…seriously! The way I see it, there are three possibilities; 1) Some countries purposely enlist little girls with stunted growth into their gymnastics program. 2) The “18” year old gymnast is actually 10. 3) They’re taking some sort of anti-growth drug.

6 Comments:

April my love, you post three times to every one post of mine and I'm going "Huh? WTF? When did THIS happen?" :) But seriously, good job in getting rid of the therapist and check out my other blog listmaniac if you want some other good things to read coz I posted some great blogs up there. Also any time you need to talk, give us a shout, k? *hugs to part of super-cool blogger friendship circle*

i hopped across to the first blog you mention and it makes for quite an interesting read. i also visited a couple of other blogs on your blogroll and Terri and Mr.Husband-And-Father-1976 (i forget his name if he ever disclosed it) are fascinating. Thanks so much! :)

Thanks for the link and the comments on my Blog. I’ll do the same, although I will have to create a new sidebar category for you. How about: ”The Trials of Parenthood”.

So you have a step-brother in Frankfurt? Well, our lives probably don’t parallel all that much. Frankfurt is the large financial center of Germany, which means your step-brother has a good chance of being a banker, a stock trader, or a burger flipper at McDonalds (they have them here). I live in a small remote village about 3 hours southeast of Frankfurt in the state of Bavaria. In fact, our village is so remote that I can actually smell the cow shit that has just been sprayed on the fields! Please excuse me while I close my window.

North Carolina…hum…that makes you almost a home girl; I’m from Hampton, Virginia.

hmm....whilst your rather violent comments in my blog did make me suspect that you were physical manifestation of Sarah 'o' Connor (terminator???) ...a visit to you blog does allay some of those fears...